


cards

by canbreathe



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Autistic Chara (Undertale), Bullying, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Insomnia, Intrusive Thoughts, Mental Abuse, Mental Health Issues, Nonbinary Chara (Undertale), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Physical Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, pre-game
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-20 21:00:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16563047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canbreathe/pseuds/canbreathe
Summary: you were dealt a bad hand in life, and it just seems to get worse.(there's always a catch,there's always a place to go)





	cards

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Self Guided Tours](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/431936) by Black Marble (song). 



> More tags will be added as the story goes on.  
> 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it could always be worse- that is not a good argument 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chara is in no way at fault here.
> 
> warning: this is not a black and white situation. 

Your parents are never at home. 

 

You swear that when you were younger, they coddled you like nothing else but.. 

You don't think that's what the bruises and endless apologies really meant. Anymore, anyway. Back when you were littler, you thought you were the luckiest kid in the world (never never never never never never). 

 

You're pretty wrong, in that regard (always always always always always always). 

 

You don't think you've ever been more wrong in your life, to be honest. 

you take a deep breath and try to stop smiling for once (one day you started and never really stopped) (open wide, die inside). 

you need to leave (always always always always always always). you can't live like this anymore; you can barely hold yourself together, the loneliness seeps from the walls into your very soul and there's thoughts repeating in your head constantly (die die die die die die) (one step forwards two steps back) (don't cry don't cry don't cry don't cry don't cry don't cry) and they won't stop. 

you can't stay here for much longer. 

 

-

 

The next time your parents leave you in the house, alone, you are filled (always always always always always always) with faint relief and a vague, cloying disappointment. 

You can't really say that you're surprised. 

 

When they come home, smiling and laughing until they open the door, it's one fifteen am and you shouldn't be wake and yet here you are (always always always always always always); they see you sitting at the couch next to the window. Your glossy, gleaming, garish eyes stare back at them, slightly intrigued.

You wonder where they were, this time. 

Their faces contort into something strange, and you can't quite figure it out so you smile (open wide, die inside) at them the way they do, grinning and showing all your pretty white teeth crammed into your gums. Only when they scream at you, unleashing with it an overwhelming wave of an ice cold irritation do you realise that you've done something wrong (always always always always always always). 

Mum drags you into your room, kicking and screaming at 3.

 

In the morning, when she apologises and promises she'll never do it again, you just turn away. 

You're not stupid enough, not careless enough to believe her sorrys and please forgive mes anymore. 

 

You start making a plan. 

 

-

 

You stare out of the window, tiredly gazing into distance. You haven't been able to sleep for a while (always always always always always always) and it's even starting to irritate you, never mind your parents. They almost seem to hate it a million more times than you do.

 

One of them tells you that you're freak and that you should sleep (sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep) like a normal kid, but you don't really pay much attention. You don't even know which one it was, nor do you really care what they think. The intent of it, however, pounds through your skull (sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep) (one step forward two steps back). 

You try your best to ignore it. 

 

It's not too difficult, especially since they haven't put their hands (never never never never never never) (always always always always always always) on you. You sigh and slump more heavily into your arms. It's about midnight, you think. You pick at the scabs on your hands absent-mindedly. You could check the clock, but you just want to try and sleep. 

You eventually retreat back into your room and lay there, gently dozing under heavy darkness and listening out for anything, anything at all. 

 

-

 

You listen, lying in the garden grass with your eyes closed. You like the brightness of the sun, even though it burns your cheeks, but to focus on the far away (always always always always always always) you need your eyes closed; the light can't fill so much of your senses. 

You hear kids going past; someone yells at another kid, but it's unimportant (always always always always always always). The words blow away like sand, or dust after they filter through your ears; you don't even try to hold onto them, as you don't need them. 

 

You hear dozens of conversations, but none of them are important enough to care about or hold on to. 

Someone yells for you from inside the house, and the magnifying glass you used to focus splits in two, and then splinters into a million slices, scraping uncomfortably against your lungs as you move too quickly from one place to the next. 

 

-

 

You try to pick up the shards of a plate, desperately trying to gather the pieces with shaking hands. It's impossible for them to have not heard the plate shatter, but your flowing mind has become a crashing waterfall and you have to move fast (always always always always always always), try to hide the evidence (always always always always always always), cover up what you can (always always always always always always). 

it's what they do, after all. 

 

Your father comes, bringing a storm over your crashing seas. the sound is muted under the water, the lights bright. His hands grabbing at your wrists feels like burning (hot hot hot hot hot hot), like the sunset meeting the horizon, sizzling pastels bleaching into the sky before fading away into black. Anger splits through your sides and almost chokes you, your throat _hurts_ , and he clamps a hand over your mouth. 

it feels like sandpaper on your cheeks, thick spice sealed into a bubble on your tongue. grey light spills in from the sides of your eyes, like when the sun half blinds you from the side of an eye and steals the colour with it but this time it's both of your eyes, and static pours, like melted chocolate, over the layers of grey, and you can't see right and it's dark, so so so dark, the hands covering your face have taken away the colour and with it your hope for the world, because if you can't even see what even are you (die die die die die die), wilting like a flower without the light, believing others so much to help you see when trust has been dragged backwards through a bush blindfolded a million times. You try to get it away, flail and push and your voice doesn't work somehow, something is dragging itself from your mouth, like those tricks with the hats where the fabric keeps coming out but you don't know why or what it even is this time, blood and copper, the taste of pennies and sweet starts to fall like autumn leaves onto your tongue, the last saved pink by the sky. 

your ears pop and ring and you finally hear your own shrieks, you eyes are allowed to open without blackness, and you lose all form and slump onto the floor out of the grip, and sob under thick waves of shame and sheets of ice that hold you under. 

 

you get kicked and left there on the floor, heart weeping for the punishments of all (summer burns bright beneath your skin) the mistakes you (will (bright autumn leaves burst from under, beneath your eyes) ever/ have ever) made.

 

-

 

Your hands are cut up from the shards of the plate, and you can't stop picking at the scabs on your hands. The thin lines make you feel strange. They don't really even hurt; you never really hurt too much (die die die die die die). Touch never fills too much of your senses either, but pressure (no no no no no no) throbs through you, the feeling becomes a million times more and your hearing sometimes just slips out from under it. This time you didn't even throw up, though. Maybe one day you'll finally become the kid your parents say they deserve. 

Even after your mother asks you to finish cleaning up your plate, you're still picking at your hands, drying blood colouring the undersides of your fingernails. 

 

-

 

One day, while you mindlessly stare at the tv, your father apologises. "Sorry", he says, planting you in front of a field of eggshells for you to sprint across and lighting smouldering coals at the back of your throat, taking the pen off his paperwork and looking at you. 

You jump. 

You stare at him, the confusion blurring into the unasked 'why'. 

"We don't know how to do... this. We try our hardest, you know." is what he says, staring past you, his unfocused eyes not really seeing you. "I just want you to be good, to do what's right for you." is what he says. 

You don't think he's slept properly the past two days.

He's becoming a bit like you; but then again, maybe he always was. 

You look back at the tv and don't respond. (too little too late). It's not your problem. 

 

-

 

You lie in bed. 

You're tired, you're so very tired but you can't sleep (won't won't won't won't won't won't) (bad bad bad bad bad bad) and even though you feel dizzy and your vision is fuzzy, sleep doesn't come to you. 

 

-

 

One day, whilst lying in the garden, you hear kids talking about what they want to be when they're all older. Your brain latches onto the conversation, important somehow. There's a lot of teacher, fire fighter, astronaut!!(one step forward one step forward) and- andd-

 

somehow you think you won't live (two steps back two steps back) (die die die die die die) that long. 

 

-

 

You scream as they try to grab (always always always always always always) at you, try to drag you to the barber's (it could be worse), scissors and looking good for others and buzzing and gossip. You pull and scream and bite at sandpaper, scratching at any close enough for purchase. Tight pressure coils around your insides, choking all your badness out- you hear your parents distantly apologise for their child "he has problems, you know, so sorry about the way he's acting" to anyone who passes by;

 

Eventually, halfway across the car park they give up and let you drag yourself back into the car, withering looks at you and pitying looks for your parents trailing behind you. 

You've scraped your knees and hands, badly, and small bite marks decorate their arms; especially their hand and fingers. 

they yell at you when they pull out of the car park; you are an impossible kid, a freak, a bad child, a demon. 

 

-

 

glare from tinted car windows and glass nestled in house gaps half blinds as the car speeds past, shining pavement almost glittering in the light. 

You'd ask to have the window open, but you've been bad (bad bad bad bad bad bad) and the smell of petrol would probably reek anyway. 

Your already pale enough skin almost shines like what you'd imagine an angel to be like (you crawled out from under the carpets (you came from the cursed fires) they say), but you mostly just imagine the bad evaporating, condensation on smeared glass. Maybe your parents are absorbing it and then making even more. 

(You want to pry open the windows, or maybe turn the stiff handle until the glass is halfway down and smash the rest out) You tell your brain to shut up, and slam your head into your knees. You sit back up. Dark shadows are cast by your hands, lack of light where your feet are firmly planted writhes around your ankles like snakes, like static. 

 

It suits you just fine. 

 

-

 

As an apology (no no no no no no), to look good for the neighbours (always always always always always always), you end up getting two chocolate bars. They're the extremely cheap corner shop kind, generic brand, but you've always liked them more than the extremely rich other kinds; they just fill up too much of your senses in an unpleasant way, in a way that makes you unable to concentrate. You always need to be listening.

Carpet burn hands mar the surface of your skin with their touch as a lukewarm apology, and you sit through the agony- if you don't you'll have your chocolate bar taken away (one step forward two steps back), and then you'd have nothing (always always always always always always) left at all. 

The bar, put in the freezer, the way you like it most, crunches into tiny fragments on your tongue and makes you feel like you're singing in a distant, (whatever you are, you're not good) almost unreal way. In a way that's kind of unfamiliar and familiar at the same time. 

 

-

 

All the emotions you feel are hopeless (always always always always always always) copies; quivering figures praying that they resemble the real thing (you/they have no way of knowing) 

 

-

 

Under the awful, awful, consuming boredom of being home alone while your father is out and your mother is working, you almost wish you had another sibling, one to share your burdens with but no (how could you how could you how could you how could you how could you how could you), that's so horribly selfish, why would you want another human to suffer here with you- but then again, everyone suffers like this, don't they? 

Held tight over your shredding personality, and held down by the suffocating loneliness- so much that you might choke, you scratch at your scalp, staring blankly into the distance until at the front it feels awkwardly cold and stings/burns so slightly you can hardly feel it, unless you close your eyes and let the touch fill more of your senses whenever you scratch at it, and instead of white under your nails it's clearish yellow flakes; the almost comforting familiarity of not quite blood but still slightly scabby. 

 

You can't say you're too surprised; you've gone down this path many, many times. You have done it before (always always always always always always) and you'll do it again (always always always always always always). 

 

-

 

Your mother is cooking. You close your eyes and listen. The noise answers you and invites you to the sizzle (hot hot hot hot got pot), to the oven head whirring and to her tapping footsteps. 

She probably sees you on the sofa, and yells at you over the sizzle of the pan; "I guess you'll be wanting some of this as well!" 

You're just bored, not too hungry but also not that full. You don't answer her. "Listen to me!" 

Her footsteps tap tap tap towards you quickly, flakes of irritation sputter into the crashing of a waterfall of ice cold, calculated (mock mock mock mock mock mock) anger and suddenly your arm is caught by the wrist.

Your eyelids pull themselves open in surprise as she pulls you off the sofa, a wave of dizziness making you stumble further away, pricks from things changing too fast. "Let me teach you a lesson, freak! Answer me!!" 

She drags you into the kitchen even as you try to pull out of her sandpaper grip, pleading for her to stop and then she tugs your arm hard, into the kitchen under the whirring fan and the clear bright lights and presses your hand onto the side

of the pan

ir blin

ds you

 

you scre

am f _or_

 _all the_ for

vers you n

e _ver (_ go

t to/ will

ev **r )** li _v_ e 

 

-

 

Your right hand is held under a tap (it could be worse) and bandaged up in a daze; she sobs over you and constantly apologises, she'll never (always always always always always always) do it again and she promises so much and so little that she'll actually carry out. 

You don't really realise you're crying (never never never never never never) until she wipes the tears from your blurry eyes and you flinch away from her as she moves closer; she sobs to you that she'll never ever (always always always always always always) do it again, but this time, with her heaving sobs, it might almost be real. 

Almost. 

 

-

 

Your mother is drunk. Someone yelled and screamed at the other (not you not you not you not you not you not you). She hasn't gone out. You would know; you've been locked in the house with her all day. 

She didn't go to work (never never never never never never); she just kept drinking and drinking from a dark, tall bottle and eventually passed out on the couch. You went into your room soon after and counted down the minutes, listening to ticking clock. Your father asked her about work, and how they have neighbours to look good for, about how she didn't go but he can't get a job to help keep up with rent and bills, but you're just sitting there please rachel, listen to me. 

She groans and he lets out a choked sigh. 

 

You body fills with a resonating emptiness (always always always always always always) as you hear him apologise to her (three times with feeling) (not you not you not you not you not you not you) as soon as they both start to cry. 

He's only ever said sorry to you a million times -drowning in fistfuls of bright, glassy apologises; something even the boiling sun doesn't want to take-, but he didn't mean it (never never never never never never). 

Empty tears fall from your face as you feel nothing at all (die die die die die die), and strengthen your resolve. 

 

-

 

in the middle of the night, your mother stumbles into your room. 

she stinks and she holds your face and hands and you don't move away despite the feeling of sandpaper because there's something under those fingertips, something you can't find, it's a weird kind of unfiltered warmth and she tells you that she loves you (too little too late), that she's sorry (never never never never never never) and that you're her little boy (no no no no no no). 

shes always loved you but it was so hard. thats what she says. You stare at her. her eyes are unfocused but they gaze into yours the most that they can. 

she wanders away mumbling. 

 

a distant warmth lingers on your cheeks, but the thick, grey void in your chest takes it by the time it reaches dawn. 

 

-

 

To try and bring the house back to normal (do you want this though) (but you feel you have to)(you're leaving soon), you start pouring fizzy clear down sinks and flushing dark red down toilets. You try to hide, most days. (dandelions grow close to the ground) (, in hopes their heads won't be kicked off) 

Your mother gets driven to work by your father, and he keeps looking for a job. 

Some (always always always always always always) late nights from work, when she comes home late and you're sat in the sitting room, not really waiting for her but also not really doing anything else, it almost seems like she loves you (no no no no no no) with the way she looks at you, speaks quietly to you. 

There's almost always regret brimming at the edges of her eyes, and it kind of makes you want to laugh. 

they deserve it. 

 

They do (always always always always always always) because they've torn you to pieces again and again and made you into something you weren't then but something you are now, and every time they do it again they blame you for it. 

It sickens you. 

 

But it's only normal. 

 

-

 

You lie on the grass and listen, wondering if you'll heard anything interesting.

It's okay at first; they start talking about phones; not that you've ever had one, you've always been too young, your parents said, and then by the time you were finally old enough you were always at home anyway, and they said you didn't need one because they always knew where you were. 

But then-

 

One day, you hear someone say something they shouldn't have.

 

"Wanna hear why that freaky kid left school?-" 

your heart stops, clawing at yourself with choked breaths because nobody cares to hear your side of the story, they only listen to the kids who do stuff to you just like your parents because they're better than you and you shove your hand into your mouth, because you can't have another shrieking episode, especially not now "Hey! Come over here!!" someone thankfully yells, distracting them. 

you are paralysed by the waking dream, the dozing memory, static lit up by a thousand suns and still unchanged, no matter how much light you shine on it to get away

 

-

 

You stay up very very late; it's not a secret and it never really was (never never never never never never) in your house, and you keep doing it anyway because you still don't really care too much about what your parents try to tell you about sleep. 

Slowly, they start to give up on even bothering you about how you should go to bed at a 'reasonable' time. 

Instead they repeat the general things every time they see you; they tell you you're older now (never never never never never never), you should know better (never never never never never never), you're not good enough. (always always always always always always) 

 

You've tired them out, in a way. 

 

-

 

you can't afford to feel sorry for them anymore;

 

after all, your plan has almost been put into place. 

 

-

 

One night, when you're up late and they've pretty much stopped caring at this point, as long as you stay out of the way, a plastic cup drops onto the floor (no one will be alive to hear it) is what your brain first says, before you're able to even attempt to correct it with 'awake'. Nobody comes for you that time, and you slink off back to your room after putting it away, deciding not to have that drink after all. You don't want to make more noise going to the toilet after drinking it. 

You lie in your grave, ice cold sheets (winter suns and tucked into cots of snow) cradle your body in the wrong way and drown under the weight of everything the world has told you to hold for a moment and then left you with; teeth of darkness and slivering ceiling snakes that vanish in the light but hiss and gnaw at you until the first dawn light begins to break. You are hopelessly lost in your own life, and you kneel and pray to whatever higher being is stupid enough to listen to a kid like you that you will someday (never never never never never never) find safety. 

 

-

 

Seeing you (never never never never never never) seems to start becoming harder and harder and then unbearable to them; they start to lock you into your room at midnight (sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep). When they catch sight of you, guilt seems to ooze from their very beings. 

They can't seem to stop themselves though, from yelling at you when you make too much noise or when you drop something or when you are simply there near them, in the way (always always always always always always). You don't get to eat very much. You scuttle around when they aren't home, hiding plastic wrapped food and you learn how to ration it quickly. 

 

They seem to be trying, really trying for once (too little too late) but their personalities catch up to them before love does (always always always always always always), and they start screaming at you (still not used to burning anger)(ice is what you've always felt) and apologising and pushing you and blaming you and pulling at your hair and trying to pull you closer and locking you up into your room earlier and earlier. 

 

-

 

wind chimes tinkle outside (to the moon and back). 

you can appreciate their chattering; they only got put up a week ago. 

 

It's half five (sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep). The clock on your wall says so. the sun is rising, and you know that nobody will be awake at this time. 

 

You've hardly slept. 

They locked you in your room at 7 this time, and you'll only be able to get out through the window.

You can deal with that (always always always always always always). 

 

-

 

You give the bus driver an empty smile (open wide, die inside), as you step off the bus stop closest to the mountain. There used to be one that was closer, but it closed so, so long ago. You only know about it from the supposedly scary (never never never never never never) stories (real demons talk to you everyday)(they hide even in the burning static of your dreams) the kids would tell each other, walking past the house. 

You cross a motionless roundabout, the ground gulping for air beneath your feet. It's been raining for several days straight, and it's finally stopped. 

You take in a deep breath, and start the climb. 

 

You ache. You feel empty (always always always always always always) to the moon and back (to the moon and back) and you've only walked for half an hour. 

You guess that's just what the hunger has done to you. You're split in half under the static of the drifting clouds, weight from something you've tried to leave behind gripping you by the ankles. You're not used to running around, not anymore (you and love and all) (the kids that never came back) at least. 

 

-

 

You stand in front of the hole. Tree branches rustle in the wind; leaves fold other each other in the breeze. You don't think many kids ever found this place. The feeling it was only meant for you sets blistering fires alight beneath your translucent skin. It's somewhat literal; the stupid sun has burned your stupid skin, the sky clear and gutted (you're absolutely gutted about the situation, ha ha ha) like a fish, empty and yet trying to gulp all the water it so carelessly poured out under itself back up. You're so, so hungry (always always always always always always) and so so cold (always always always always always always) under the blinding light that was not (never never never never never never) meant for you. 

 

This doesn't feel real (is is is is is is). 

Your lungs gasp for breath from the run/climb here (you've never felt more alive) 

Is there even enough air here, you find yourself wondering

You take a step - y _o_

u trip 

 

you _ti_

_p_

_f_ or

w

rd

 

(one day you started and never really stopped)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chara in this has some sort of empathy where they get caught up in emotions of people around them, which they've had to try and coach themself out of (but it never really worked).  
> Feel free to ask questions! (I'll answer them as long as I myself know the answer and it isn't a spoiler!)  
> ahhh I'm so excited to release my first multi-chapter fanfic where.. I actually know what's going on?? It's great!
> 
> (By the way, the poem Winter Swans by Owen Sheers is referenced near the end.)

**Author's Note:**

> Updates should be around every two weeks to a month; feel free to bother me if it's been longer than three weeks so I can work on the chapter!!


End file.
